Fern Vale Volume Iii Part 3

The following day the invalid was considered by her medical attendant to be sufficiently out of danger, and progressing so favourably as to warrant his departure. He therefore left, accompanied by his boon companion, Bob Smithers, who preferred his society to that of the residents of Strawberry Hill, and was followed by Mr. Alfred Smithers in the gig.

We have so frequently, and we think so fully, dwelt upon the character of Eleanor Rainsfield that we are convinced she is by this time perfectly understood by our readers. We need therefore only say that it was quite possible for her to suffer the deepest mental agony without the slightest semblance of its being discernible in any display in her facial muscles. We say that it was quite possible that the existence of sorrow could have been working deleteriously at the heart's core of the invalid, and not be visible by any outward signs; and it was more than probable, after the events that had lately occurred, that some such sorrow did exist. We have already said that Eleanor was habitually of a taciturn and uncomplaining nature; and, whatever were her griefs, she rarely allowed their utterance to pa.s.s her lips; so it was not to be deemed strange that her friends were unacquainted with her state of mind. What that was we dare not violate our trust by divulging, beyond the fact that there _was_ something that preyed upon her mind which caused her to remain feverish and restless on her sick couch, and which r.e.t.a.r.ded her return to convalescence. She progressed but slowly; and it was nearly two months before she was enabled to leave her room, and expose her emaciated frame to the summer breeze in a seat in a shady part of the verandah.

During all this lengthened illness, her friends at Fern Vale had been constant in their attentions, and hardly a day pa.s.sed without some enquiries being made or some intelligence being conveyed. Visits of William and Kate were interchanged with Tom, who had delayed his journey to town until Eleanor was what he considered sufficiently recovered to spare him. When that time had arrived, and he saw his cousin at last enabled to move about, he took his departure; not, however, without making a special purpose of visiting Fern Vale to bid adieu to his friends there.

Why such particular consideration as this was required prior to his departure on a journey that would not occupy more than a month, or why it was necessary to take such a formal leave of friends he was in the habit of seeing so frequently, and whom he could and did inform of his intended departure upon the last occasion on which they met, we are at a loss to conjecture. We do not, however, consider ourselves justified in making any surmises, but intend simply to content ourselves by chronicling the event; deeming in so doing we perform our duty, and avoid the probability of misleading our readers, by indulging in speculations that might lead to erroneous a.s.sumptions respecting the motives of our friend. Therefore it is only known to Tom himself, or rather was best known to him, what took him to Fern Vale, and what kept him for hours in company with Kate Ferguson. But there he remained looking over her sketches, and turning over her music, as he listened rapturously; while her pliable fingers fluttered over the keys of her piano, and exorcised the very spirit of the muse in the exquisite diapason that she produced to enchant him. If it was simply to bid adieu to the young lady he might have done that, we should have thought, in a much shorter time, and taken his departure. It could not have been to visit her brother, for as yet he had not seen him, and neither made any effort nor expressed any desire to do so. He had, in fact, arrived at Fern Vale early in the forenoon, and finding Kate alone in the sitting-room, his gallantry (or rather his inclination) suggested that he should endeavour to relieve the _ennui_ of the young lady. Thus he had occupied, for nearly the whole of the morning, her and his own time, in which occupation he seemed perfectly contented; so much so that we strongly suspect that he--But we were about doing what we repudiated our intention of, viz., speculating on Tom's motives. So, dear reader! with your kind permission, so far as we are concerned, we will leave him to enjoy uninterruptedly the pleasure of Kate's society.

We must now beg the courteous reader to follow us over a period of about a fortnight, during which time Eleanor had improved very little in her health; when Kate and William one morning left Fern Vale to ride over to see her. The weather had continued very dry for months past, and a large portion of the bush had been slightly fired, so as just to burn off the long dry withered gra.s.s, and leave on the ground a thick coating of soot. Through this our friends were riding at a pretty sharp canter (as, being like most of their birth and character, no less speed satisfying them), when Kate's horse tripped and came down, precipitating his rider over his head, and sending her sprawling amongst the ashes.

Her brother alighted to a.s.sist her to rise; but she was in no way hurt, and regained her feet with little difficulty or hesitation. But she had no sooner faced William than he lost all control over his gravity, and burst into an immoderate fit of laughter; while to his sister's enquiry as to the cause of his merriment, he replied only by laughing the louder; and she became annoyed at what she called his silly behaviour.

"Tell me," said she, "what are you laughing at; is my face dirty?"

"Oh, dear no!" replied he, "it is not dirty."

Now in this reply of William's we would endeavour to exonerate him from any duplicity or pseudology. If he meant to use the words ironically, or to imply that his sister's face was not dirty, on the principle we have sophistically heard enunciated that soot is clean dirt, not dirtying where it comes in contact, but merely soiling; then it must be admitted he spoke the truth. But we suspect rather that he meant to say her face was not only dirty, but a shade worse; for it was absolutely black. And much as we respect etiquette, and would be loath to commit such an impropriety as to laugh at a lady, we question very much our ability, had we looked on Kate's face on this occasion, to have preserved a stoical equanimity of countenance.

"No but, Will, dear," persisted Kate, "do tell me; is my face really dirty? I am sure it must be or you wouldn't laugh so. It is unkind of you to tease me;" and the little orbs in the darkened firmament, and the little mouth that had escaped disfigurement in the sudden metamorphosis, exhibited symptoms of a lachrymose tendency.

Nothing so soon softens the obdurate heart of a man as seeing a woman in tears; especially when she is a handsome young girl, and is beloved by her masculine tormentor. Therefore we may safely surmise, that William's laughing soon ceased; for he instantly changed his manner to his sister, and said:

"Yes, Kitty, darling; your face is as black as a crow; and would enable you to make a splendid personation of an Ethiopian vocalist, if that sable people ever exhibit their ladies. But forgive me, poppet, for laughing at you; I would defy the G.o.ddess of grief herself to refrain from smiling if she had perchance cast her eyes upon you as you rose from the ground."

"Oh, dear me! what shall I do?" said Kate, in a most piteous way. "What shall I do? You know, Will, I can't go on in this figure, we must go back."

"Nonsense, my dear," said William, "you can go on very well. A slight application of water at Strawberry Hill will very soon remove all traces of your cloudiness."

"But, Will," replied his sister, "all the people will be laughing at me if I go on as I am, presenting such an odd appearance."

"Not in the least, my pet," said William; "besides if you turned back home our people would laugh at you quite as much, not for the soot on your face, but for your foolishness in returning. At Strawberry Hill, however, no one will laugh at you, for they will have too much good breeding; and if you put your veil down over your face it will be invisible; while at the same time you can present yourself to Eleanor, and test her affection by seeing if she will kiss you in that plight.

I'll engage she'll laugh, for she'll think it is a little stratagem of yours to take her by surprise and excite her merriment. She will therefore think herself called upon to reward you with a smile."

"I don't like to go in this figure, Will," said Kate; "do you think we shall be able to find any water-hole on the road where I could wash my face?"

"Not one, Kitty," said William, "nor a drop of water nearer than Strawberry Hill, unless you like to go to the river; and it would be quite unnecessary, for if you went there you wouldn't be able to thoroughly remove the black. The washing would only make you appear worse, inasmuch as, instead of being black, you would be dirty. But come, my little queen of Artimesia! let me put you on your horse, and we'll go ahead. I have often heard of a sable beauty, and declare you are one in perfection; if you were not my sister I would do the romantic and fall in love with you. There now! up you get, and let us be off; for the sooner you get to 'the Hill' the sooner you'll have your visage restored to its natural colour. But before you touch your face, Kitty, just have a look at yourself in the gla.s.s; though I need not have told you to do that, for I know it is the first thing you are sure to do."

"Don't be cruel, Will! and tease me so," said Kate, "or I'll go back home."

"Very well, my dear," said William, "I'll grant a truce, and spare you."

The brother and sister then turned their conversation into some other channel, and rode on until they came within sight of Strawberry Hill; when Kate pulled down her veil to conceal her darkened countenance from the gaze of the curious. As they approached the station, and got sufficiently near to distinguish the people about the place, Kate was startled to see some gentleman on the verandah, whom she knew (by his appearance) was not Mr. Rainsfield, and she remarked to her brother: "Oh, William! I can't go up to the house in this figure. See, who is that on the verandah? he is a stranger I know and I shall never be able to meet his gaze. Can't you take me somewhere, where I can get my face clean before I show myself?"

"Don't be frightened Kitty," said William, "no one will be able to distinguish the colour of your face through your veil; and, if I mistake not, the individual you see, and whose appearance seems to cause you such uneasiness, is none other than Bob Smithers, who will make himself scarce when he sees me. Put on a bold face under your blackness, and try a _coup de main_, though it is not likely under your present eclipse to be a _coup de soleil_. If Eleanor is on the verandah when you alight run into the house and carry her off at once; and if any of the family should see you in your flight I will make some explanation for you."

This seemed partially to satisfy Kate, and they rode together up to the house. As William had conjectured the party they saw was Bob Smithers; who, as soon as he had been able to distinguish who were the approaching visitors, had left the spot where he had been seen by them, while Eleanor, who had been sitting just inside one of the French lights, came out to greet her friends as they made their appearance. William a.s.sisted Kate off her saddle, when she ran up to the girl who stood with open arms to embrace her. But instead of falling into that loving lock, which was intended to unite the beatings of their young hearts, and which she was generally so ready, with her usual ardour, to reciprocate, she partially lifted her veil and discovered to her astonished friend her beaming countenance. Instead of being radiant with glowing smiles it was of course more gloomy than thunder; but her merry laugh rang as a silvery note from the shades of Hades, while her bright eyes and pearly teeth, in such deep contrast, shone with a more marked resplendence.

Eleanor for some moments gazed at Kate with silent wonder, and then asked in the faint voice of a valetudinarian: "Why, dearest Kate, what have you been doing with yourself?"

"I will answer for her," replied William. "You see our little Hebe has gone into mourning; and, considering that the mere outward habilimentary display was an empty conventionality, she chose to mark her grief in her countenance; so that she might indulge uninterruptedly to any extent of sorrow. As to her motive I am inclined to think she has done it to court notice, and notoriety; for I am convinced she never looked so handsome before."

"That is a poor compliment William pays you, Kate," said Eleanor; "but I appeal to you for a correct version of the phenomenon, for I am afraid to question your brother, as I see he is in a facetious mood. Come to my room, my dear, and we can have a talk to ourselves."

"That is the very thing I desire, Eleanor dear," said Kate, "for I am quite anxious to see what a fright I am, and wash off all the dreadful s.m.u.t. I saw Mr. Smithers here as I came up, and I would not for the world that he should have seen me thus."

"He was here a few minutes ago," said Eleanor, "but has disappeared somewhere."

"Well, Will," said Kate, "why are you still standing staring at us? why don't you take the horses away?"

"Oh, I am really very sorry for keeping him," said Eleanor, "it quite escaped my memory; you go to my room, Kate dear, and I'll send some one to see to the horses."

"Not for worlds, Miss Eleanor, would I permit you to do such a thing,"

exclaimed William. "I can myself take the horses to the stable; but I was waiting to take a last fond look of Kate. I am, in fact, enchained to the spot; if ever she was a beauty she is one now, and a shining one that would be a fortune to a London advertising blacking manufacturer."

"Be off, you impudent fellow!" replied his sister, "and don't show _your_ face here until you can cease to be offensive;" saying which, she turned into the house with Eleanor, while William took the horses to the stable to remain for such time as he stopped at Strawberry Hill. This business he accomplished; and, knowing that the girls would be sometime engaged together with their own little secrets, and having no desire to come into contact with Bob Smithers, he thought he would fill up half an hour by paying a visit to Mr. Billing, and enjoying the refreshment of that little individual's conversation.

CHAPTER IV.

"The wondering stranger round him gazed, All spoke neglect and disrepair."

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

William sought the capricious storekeeper in the proper sphere of his labour, viz. the store-room, and, as he had antic.i.p.ated, found him deeply engaged in some imaginarily abstruse piece of figurative collocation, from the study of which he relieved his brain and raised his eyes at the sound of intrusive steps. William advanced with outstretched hand, which was humbly and respectfully taken by Mr.

Billing; who, as he removed his spectacles from his nose, and shifted, we will not say rose from his desk, answered to his visitor's sanitary enquiry in his blandest manner: "I thank you, Mr. Ferguson; it affords me great satisfaction to say I am in the enjoyment of excellent health, and trust, my dear sir, a similar blessing is dispensed to yourself."

"Well, thank you, Mr. Billing," replied William, "I am pretty well. But don't let me disturb you if you are busy, I have just called in to see and have a chat with you; but if you are engaged I will not interrupt you; for I thoroughly agree to the principle that business must be attended to."

"I a.s.sure you, sir," said Mr. Billing, "I appreciate your kindness in thinking me worthy of your consideration. I feel favoured, sir, beyond measure; and if you will still further honour me by gracing our humble dwelling, I can say, sir, with confidence Mrs. Billing will be equally as delighted as myself."

"But I hope, Mr. Billing, I am not taking you away from your business,"

said William.

"By no means, my dear sir," exclaimed that urbane individual, "however engrossed I might be in my mental or corporeal occupations, the respite, sir, from those labours, when it is occasioned by the honour of a visit from a young gentleman of your talent and abilities, is of too valuable a nature, sir, not to be gratefully seized by your humble servant. Pray accept my best thanks, sir, for your attention, and permit me to invite you, sir, to our unpretending abode; for lowly it is, and not of those pretensions I could desire, sir, nor of such as it has been my lot at a former period of my life to possess, yet, sir, to it I can offer an Englishman's adjunct, a hearty welcome."

"I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Billing," replied William, "and will be happy to accept of your hospitality."

"This way then, Mr. Ferguson," said Mr. Billing. "Allow me to close the door of the store. I always lock it in my absence to prevent, sir, any unpleasant affairs, such as have occurred here, you know. If you will be good enough to step this way, sir? I must apologize beforehand, for the litter which I expect you will find, sir, in our domicile by explaining that Mrs. Billing does not antic.i.p.ate the pleasure of visitors."

Considering the sight that greeted the eyes of William as he entered the cottage, such an apology was certainly necessary, or rather unnecessary, to prepare him for what he was to witness. We said necessary, to excuse the lady of the house for the chaotic arrangements of her household, seeing that one couldn't enter the dwelling without being painfully aware that slovenliness and disorder reigned supreme. Therefore we corrected ourselves in the expression, and stated the absence of such necessity; as no one could be so blind as to imagine that the litter which Mr. Billing alluded to was merely the result of an occasion; for it was too palpably evident that the spirit of disorganization was the presiding genius of the Billing mansion, and, moreover, the visitor would be strengthened in the conviction the very moment he cast his eyes upon the wife of Mr. Billing's bosom. We will repeat then that Mr.

Billing made numerous apologies for the disorder to which he was about to usher William Ferguson; and we may safely conjecture that William was not a little surprised when all the internal arrangements of the home burst upon his vision.

"Let me show you to my domicile, Mr. Ferguson," said the little man in rather a pompous way; "as usual, sir, the house is turned topsey-turvey, Mrs. Billing is such a woman for cleanliness. You have no doubt, Mr.

Ferguson (though you have not yet become entangled in the meshes of matrimony), heard of the nuisance of a musical wife; let me equally warn you, sir, against choosing the partner of your connubial bliss, from those of too cleanly a predilection. My spouse, sir, for instance, has periodical fits for cleansing (and I regret to say, sir, they are of too frequent occurrence for my especial comfort); then nothing but dust, soap and water, and disquietude pervades the house for a full twelve or twenty-four hours. You are aware, sir, 'at home' (I mean of course in Old England) we paterfamiliases are taught, sir, to look upon washing-days as the very superlative of domestic misery; but my wife always had a propensity for having something like a washing-day very nearly six times a week, sir; and she has brought her customs and prejudices with her to this barbarous country. But come in, my dear sir, and take a seat, while I inform Mrs. Billing of your presence; and if I may be so bold, sir, as to add, I will entreat you to make yourself quite at home."

This introductory prologue of Mr. Billing's was delivered as he stood with the door slightly ajar, and holding it by the handle while he addressed William, no doubt to fully prepare him to a proper appreciation of the merits of the lady to whom he was about to be introduced. When we say introduced we do not mean that formal ceremony in which strangers are brought to a mutual acquaintance (for William had frequently before met Mrs. Billing), but the mere act of being ushered to her presence in a house into which he, as yet, had never entered. Mr.